


Mysterious Requests

by eyeslikerain



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman, Find Me - André Aciman
Genre: Elio gets lots of sex, Heartbreak, Heraclitus as foreplay, M/M, don't be jealous, finding him, he deserves it, mysterious requests to a pianist, taking place in 2002
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikerain/pseuds/eyeslikerain
Summary: 2002: Elio is a pianist living in Montmartre. One fine day in May, he finds a mysterious note slipped under his door.
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 185
Kudos: 121





	1. Liebesträume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quima/gifts).



> ... thanks for the lovely request. It was a joy to work with!

Elio got up from the piano bench to open his window: Minou, the grey tomcat who had decided to split his life between Elio‘s place and the apartment on the fourth floor of his actual owner had knocked impatiently and dramatically on the window. His neighbour was working all day, and Minou had soon found out that Elio was easily available every morning. He could not only skip all those stairs if he knocked at the tiny carriage house in the courtyard. He knew he was in for affection and attention as well as a most welcome mid-morning snack. The arrangement had worked to mutual satisfaction for all of the four years Elio had been living here in Montmartre. Minou‘s owner and he called it „cat-sharing“, had talked in length about the various dietary preferences of the cat – who devoured at Elio‘s what he despised at home – and informed each other whenever one of them was absent for a few days. The cat was spoiled rotten and benefitted most of having two owners.

Minou hopped into the large, sunny room, rubbed his head on Elio‘s leg and walked in eights around him. Elio bent down to pick him up. Minou purred ecstatically and pressed his head against Elio‘s chin. Elio loved the soft fur against his cheek, scratched the cat‘s fluffy breast with his fingers and whispered into one of the large ears: 

„Jeanne switched her perfume for summer. You smell good.“

Minou, exuding a faint whiff of „Eau de Nil“, didn‘t care about his owner‘s various scents as long as he got his meals on time. He started to wriggle in Elio‘s arms. Elio put him down and was on his way to the tiny kitchen in a corner of the room when his gaze fell onto a slip of paper in front of his door. Someone seemed to have slipped it under the door. It happened quite often – usually, these were invitations from neighbours, a quick note from Antoine at the workshop under him if they‘d have lunch together today, or a note from Jeanne concerning Minou. His neighbours knew not do disturb him when he practised. He lived in a paradise for musicians, one of the rare oases where noise and music was still tolerated. „Utopia“, as his mother called the little courtyard affectionately. Where else in a city like Paris could a musician practice his art as unhinderedly as he? Elio knew how lucky he was, and when talking to colleagues and hearing about their various fights with neighbours, he sent silent prayers of thanks heavenwards. Still, there was this tiny sliver of fear that some day a complaint might reach him. He knew that his immediate neighbours in the carriage house, even if they were the ones who were affected most by his practising, used their spaces only for a few hours a day and generally didn‘t mind his music: directly under him was the gilder‘s workshop where Antoine and two ladies practised their magic. Next to them was the office of a realtor who used it only sparsely. Above this, mirroring Elio‘s flat, was a flat owned by a lovely elderly couple living in Brittany who used it for their occasional stays in the city. They shared a small balcony landing going all the length of the low carriage house. It was narrow and open to the view of all his neighbours, but Elio had two chairs on his side anyway and some pots with herbs and laurel his mother insisted on planting for him on her traditional easter visit. He enjoyed to sit there and have a last smoke at night. And Minou needed the landing for slipping in and out whenever he chose.

The two staircases of the high, old apartment buildings looking down on his place were reached through the courtyard. There was one other entrance directly from the street, but most of his neighbours used the inner ones as many of them locked their bikes in the back yard. The stately enormous entrance, leading from the street over a cobbled, dim passage into the picturesque courtyard, stood open most of the day. Sometimes, tourists looking for the „true“ Montmartre experience were seen sneaking in, taking pictures of the bikes leaning at the old walls, the big old wisteria climbing the house, and the collection of planted pots in front of the gilder‘s workshop. When they spotted Minou sleeping between two pots Elio could hear their cries of joy even over his playing. He knew: Minou was immortal now and would make his way on social media. Or at least being shown to family staying behind in Australia or Korea. 

Elio knew many of the tenants of the high-raising buildings across the courtyard, some by sight, some from pleasant, noncomittal small talk. He couldn‘t tell how many apartments or renters there were – dozens, or even more? The historical buildings were stretching towards the sky on six high-ceilinged floors. Elio didn‘t even know how many units there were on each floor. On a lazy, relaxed night he had started to count the lighted windows looking down into the courtyard but had given up soon. It was not important. But potentially, there lived dozens of people affected by his practising. And he was well aware of it.

When he picked up the folded slip of paper from the floor and read the elegant short note, his worries dissolved. A smile played over his lips while he read:

„I humble request to the pianist: Liebestraüme no. 3 in A-flat“

„Liebesträume“, Elio corrected involuntarly in his mind. Now this had never happened to him. He stepped quickly towards the window overlooking the courtyard and checked if someone was lingering there. He even opened his door to look into the small staircase – empty. Elio turned the paper in his hands and worried his lips. Minou had gotten annoyed when Elio had opened the door and chose this moment to remind Elio of his duties. While Elio opened some cat food and spooned it into Minou‘s dish, he wondered which one of his neighbours liked Liszt so much that he wrote such a lovely request. Someone older? The handwriting looked – no, you couldn‘t tell age from handwriting, could you? It was something very individual and had nothing to do with age. Still, it looked elegant. Composed and serene, with a certain aesthetic quality that spoke to Elio. But the mysterious stranger didn‘t speak German, as the misplaced umlaut indicated. The l‘s looked American, though. Elio didn‘t know any Americans around his neighbourhood. Who was it? A harmless elderly lady reminiscing someone having played Liszt for her long ago? A student in love with him, having found out his private address? A weirdo? Maybe a serial killer pursueing an especially perverted tactic? Elio scanned the empty courtyard again. Living in such an open, welcoming place as his building had never been a reason of concern for him. Of course, everyone could enter during the day. Also at night, if he managed to sneak in with one of the tenants under a pretence. And Elio‘s little house was definitely exposed. Everyone could watch him, if they liked. Everyone knew when he turned off his light at night or got up in the morning. But Elio had felt safe all those years. He still felt safe, but the little slip of note pad paper in his hand felt somehow – strange. Too mysterious. Also: quite demanding. „I request“, even if „humble“ - the person seemed to be very self confident. Starting a note with „I“, and going on to request something from a stranger? Though his father would have liked the „humble“. Humility being a lost virtue in his eyes. He‘d certainly known the right Montaigne quote for the revival of more humility in our lives right off his head.

Probably this was just a perfectly amiable, lonely person loving Liszt. Or piano music in general. Elio told himself to stop being paranoid and turned the paper once more in his long fingers. Why not do them the favour. Minou was happily occupied with his bowl – the tomcat didn‘t care a bit if he played Liszt or Rachmaninov as long as the bowl was filled. Usually avoiding open windows when he played, Elio opened one now deliberately, quickly searched for the music in his shelves in order not to get lost in a tricky section, put it on his piano and started to play. During the first notes, his thoughts still swirled around the strange situation. Someone watched him, possibly. Maybe from afar, maybe from very close. Well, this someone loved Liszt and should get some really lovely Liszt. And it was easy to lose yourself in the long, gently flowing melody. Elio moulded it with his thumbs, carefully and warmly, layered it by spiraling cascades of softer notes in both hands and followed it‘s way through the short, heartbreaking story. „Dreams of Love“ - the title for his life as a major motion picture. Since Oliver had left almost twenty years ago, dreaming about love was all he had ever experienced of true love. He had had his fair share of short-time relationships, affairs and certainly enough bodily satisfaction to call it a fulfilled life – if not this one major thing would be lacking so sadly: to be with the person you were meant to be. With the one person on earth filling your heart with light and joy. With the one calling you by his name.

Elio had given up hope they would ever see each other again after he had visited Oliver in his college town four years ago. Even if they just had had a few drinks at his hotel and spent all in all about ninety minutes together, the encounter had shaken him badly. He was surprised how much ardent passion was still left in him. How desolate and desperate and simply bereft he had felt after the meeting. It was almost unbearable to know that Oliver, still as gorgeous and radiant as fifteen years ago, breathed and lived and was unavailable to him. 

And yet, Elio couldn‘t get him out of his head and heart, even if he knew it was the most futile whim he could entertain. He knew about his happy married life, his sons which now must be older than Elio himself in this one formative summer, his position at the university. There was no place for Elio in this life, as the long stretches of non-communication showed. Oliver practically never wrote. Not to Elio, that is. He had kept up faithfully with his parents, though, sending the obligatory christmas cards complete with photos, always in his own handwriting and always with a more or less lengthy account of the past year. Occasionally, there arrived thick, bulging envelopes with his newest publications or compilations of symposia he lead, usually with a short note thanking Elio‘s father for ideas he had planted in Oliver‘s head so many years ago. He never forgot to scribble „Give my love to Elio“, but never addressed him personally.

Elio had written to him every year. After the first years with almost no answer, he had stopped to mail his letters. But he wrote them none the less. He wrote long, elaborate, kind and loving letters to his former love, very often around the day they had met for the first time, back in is father‘s rose-coloured study at the villa. It had been the eighth of July when they shook hands for the first time and Oliver‘s amazing blue eyes touched his soul and heart in a way he never had recovered from. Even after all those years. Elio chose a quiet hour to write in length about the past year. He addressed Oliver directly, called him sweet names, couldn‘t avoid telling him that his love for him still hadn‘t diminished. He never forgot the date and signed his yearly letters, even if he knew Oliver would never see them. After reading it once, he put the letter in a special folder – inscribed „Elio“ - , hid it in his usual secret place among his music, and never looked at it again. Sometimes he wondered if this behaviour cornered on being self-destructive, especially if he drowned his memories in too much red wine after writing the letter and woke up with a headache. Sometimes, he thought this ever growng folder was his biggest treasure. All that was left from his great love. His own small San-Clemente-Syndrome, right here in his book shelve. He‘d feel poorer without it.

Caressing the last notes of Liszt‘s „Liebestraum“ out of his piano, he thought: some write unsent letters. Some pour their heart into piano pieces surviving the centuries. Love is a powerful and strange motivation. 

When the soft sound of the last notes had died down, Elio looked down at the keys under his fingers and breathed in audibly. Better to have Liebesträume, even if only in his phantasy, than no love at all.

Suddenly, he heard a soft clapping sound from one of the windows opposite his building. He got up and darted to his window, but he couldn‘t see anyone. The clapping continued for some seconds, audible and clear, even if the echoing acoustics of the enclosed space made it impossible to say where it came from. One of the upper windows, but that was all he could tell. Elio almost craned his neck to get a better look at all the windows when the clapping stopped. So it was one of his neighbours. Somehow, this was reassuring. Better to be killed by a sick axe murderer you know, wasn‘t it? Elio snorted, turned around and looked for the slip of paper. He skipped down the stairs to the gilder‘s workshop and opened the door after a brief knock.

„Don‘t move!“ Antoine and Xenia had turned their heads in unison and looked at him imploringly. On the bench between them stood a tall ornate candleholder. Both had their hands at one of the upper protuberances. „Don‘t speak“, Antoine said curtly, turning his face away from the leaf of gold in Xenia‘s hand. Elio froze. He knew the procedure and saw he had chosen a bad moment for seeing his neighbours, but he knew their quick work would take only seconds. Seconds which could spoil everything. While Xenia and Antoine continued applying gold on the baroque monstrosity, Elio took a deep breath of the heavenly smell in the workshop. He loved to come here, or to his friend‘s violinmakers, because of the way workshops smelled: wood shavings, dust, turpentine, shellac and resin. He always loved to sniff the resin his friends used on their bows. One day, he wanted to have a perfume based on wood, resin and shellac. And lemons, to remind him of home

The workshop was far dimmer and darker than his apartment upstairs. It also didn‘t have as many windows, being the lower part of the ancient carriage house which was truly used for vehicles. The upper stories had been added later, deliberately as artist‘s studios with lots of light. Antoine had installed many lamps, though, and when both stepped away from their work, the gigantic candleholder gleamed silently and promising under the strong lamp above it. Almost like a work of art in a museum. 

„So much beauty“, Elio gasped.

„As your music just now. You had a very romantic moment, didn‘t you?“

Elio grinned and turned his head apologizingly. He knew he had gone a bit overboard with the Liszt.

„And so early in the morning, what‘s up, new lover?“, Xenia teased him.

„No, no, same old lover, but – that‘s why I came, actually. Look here?“ As both moved freer after having put away their brushes, he stepped closer and showed them the mysterious request.

„Did you see anyone slipping this under my door? Or anything else unusual?“

Both shook their heads while Xenia said: „But that‘s lovely, isn‘t it? And you did it? That was the piece you just played?“ Elio nodded. She beamed: „You are too good to be true, Elio.“

Antoine interrupted her: „Wait, when I went for a smoke earlier, there was this elderly gentleman standing in front of the realtor‘s, studying his offers. I‘ve never seen him here.“

„How old? How did he look like?“

„Around – 60, maybe? Expensive houndstooth coat, beautiful shoes. Actually I thought he was looking for us, asking us to do some repairs on his family‘s estate. He looked like money. And taste. Rare combination.“, he added.

„60?“, Elio asked.

„Well, yes.“

„But – when I stopped, somebody clapped from one of the upper windows. If it was a neighbour, do you think he‘d really put on a coat to cross the back yard?“

Antoine shrugged his shoulders. He turned the candleholder slightly, touching it with white gloves, and said to Xenia: „Let‘s continue here, in this spot, all right?“

Elio thanked them and asked them to keep their eyes open should someone linger around their place. They promised and turned back to their craft.

Elio spent the rest of the day at the „École normale de musique“ where he played two days for string players. The small coaching position he got there four years ago had been the reason for his relocation to Paris. He spent two long days there and two shorter ones, starting only after lunch, at a neighbourhood music school for children, „L‘atelier des enfants.“ Elio loved teaching, especially beginners, as he knew that the most important foundation is laid in early age. His days at the École normale were very different, and even if he played concert repertoire all day here, the job with the children was more demanding in it‘s own way. Elio loved to have both sides of the coin: to correct tiny fingers on their search for middle C as well as to delve fully into the Franck Sonata with a violinist preparing for an international competition.

During a break, he asked his colleague Anne, with whom he had a series of upcoming recitals, about the mysterious request. She turned the slip of paper Elio had carefully tucked into his diary in her slender, strong fingers and smiled at Elio through her long dark curls:

„That‘s so lovely! Lucky you! The only messages I ever get from my neighbours are non-verbal ones with the broom stick on the ceiling. Or they climb up exasperated, knock like berserks and abuse me verbally once I open the door.“

„Why don‘t you practice here?“

„I do, I do. But sometimes I‘d just like to practice in my home. Make my own tea. Water my plants when I take a break, hang up the washing, you know, just multi-task in a domestic way...“

„Multi-tasking is bad for you, didn‘t you hear?“, Elio teased her. But he felt for her and the underlying stress violent neighbours could mean. They usually rehearsed at his place and Anne envied him the peacefulness of his living quarters.

After having wrapped up his day at the school and having gotten some groceries on his short bike ride home, Elio enjoyed coming back into his own little world. He noticed for the first time with relief that the large old entrance on the street was closed. Only tenants could enter at this time of the evening. While locking his bike, Elio looked around the courtyard: no one there except him. From open windows all over the building, he heard the clatter of pots and dishes, soft radio music, someone telephoning near a window. No one seemed to watch him. Elio sighed. He started to get paranoid already. The sliver of sky visible between the tall old buildings started to turn from inky blue to violet. Elio looked up and took a deep, calming breath. How peaceful his home was. Everything was all right. He lifted the bag of milk and bread from his bike, slung the backpack with his music over his shoulder and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a pianist, and my practice sessions in the morning look exactly like Elio's. I don't own any of the cats harassing me, but if I go on playing, I feel like an egotistical monster. I keep cat food in a special cupboard, and they know this.  
> When their owners are on vacation, they claim my bed at night.


	2. A regular occasional

„I love it if we do it this way“, Elio moaned while collapsing under Laurent. He felt his lover‘s sweaty body follow him slowly and limply until Laurent finally lay fully on top of him. More heat, more sweat. Laurent groaned into his ear:

„I know, you horny little creature.“

Elio pressed the sweaty hand in his: „Greedy yourself.“

Laurent kissed Elio‘s freckled, bony shoulder and licked some sweat down the delicious valley of his spine. Elio moaned contentedly, wriggled free under him and turned his head for a kiss. Laurent was still draped over his back when he kissed him lovingly and slowly. His hands caressed all the length of Elio‘s back and hips before he closed his eyes and put his head onto Elio‘s shoulder again. They stayed like that for a few minutes, catching their breaths, cooling down, arriving on earth again. 

After some more tender kisses, Laurent slipped sideways. He struggled a bit with the tangled sheets until he came to rest next to Elio. Elio turned. They faced each other. Elio let light fingers roam the beautiful, slender body of his lover while he looked at him. They still needed some time to catch their breaths. Elio watched Laurent‘s chest rise steadily while he closed his eyes again.

Elio‘s bed was hidden from the windows facing the courtyard not only by his grand piano which shielded them perfectly but also by a large book case. Elio had deliberately separated a nook of his open floor loft to feel more cozy, even before he had met his lover. Back then when he thought he‘d never want sex with anyone else again, right after the disastrous, heartbreaking visit to Oliver four years ago. And then, Laurent had happened. Without having looked for him, he was suddenly there. Picking up the oldest of his now three, soon four children at „L‘atelier des enfants“ after his piano lesson. Looking gorgeous and so handsome and reacting immediately to the piano teacher of his son. Elio had struggled for weeks when he felt the growing tension betweeen them, trying desperately to keep his professional distance, especially as he liked the mother of the children a lot. Until Laurent asked him for drinks unexpectedly and Elio found out that Lucille and he had a weird, strange arrangement in their marriage only the French could understand: Lucille didn‘t mind him having occasional flings with men as long as she got the six children she desired and they stayed married till death. Lucille was very Catholic, as were her aristocratic parents. Outward appearance was everything. Every two weeks, they spent the weekend at the family‘s ancient home in the country. Laurent was expected to arrive Saturday afternoon, go to church on Sunday and have the traditional big Sunday lunch with her parents. She didn‘t ask what he did on Fridays. Never. She had wanted the handsome, successful young lawyer at every price, even if the price meant having to share him with different lovers, as the years showed. She knew and appreciated Elio, though. They had a strange, intimate relationship. Almost like siblings, Elio sometimes thought. He never felt any resentments from her side. He was amazed by the French: a ménage à trois really seemed to be an established way of life. And Elio, whose heart was still bruised and occupied, was secretely glad he didn‘t have to commit himself fully to someone.

Laurent stirred, kissed him twice on the lips and once on the shoulder and looked for his cigarettes. Lighting one, he slid up to lean on the headboard. He offered the cigarette to Elio for the first drag before indulging in it himself. Elio leant on his elbow and looked at him:

„Is everything all right with Louis? He seemed a bit reluctant in his last lesson.“

„You really want to talk about this right now?“ Laurent tousled Elio‘s hair.

„Busy parents get special appointments, you know...“ Elio searched for his hand and kissed it. “Something bothered him and I don‘t know what it is.“

„It‘s the Bach“, Laurent said. „He‘s despairing over it. There were even tears yesterday night.“

„Oh no!“, Elio sighed. „Is it really that hard for him?“

Laurent nodded: „Afraid so.“

„But it‘s only from this little collection for his wife. Really, Bach for beginners. Not yet the really difficult one.“

„Difficult enough for him, it seems. I wouldn‘t have mentioned it, but since you started – do you think you could do something different? Just to motivate Louis again? You know, I stopped taking lessons around his age and I still regret it.“

„Without parents like you, whole generations of piano teachers would be jobless. Guilt keeps us fed“, Elio joked.

„Come here“, Laurent growled, bit Elio‘s neck and kissed him messily. Elio wriggled and giggled. Laurent held the cigarette away from the bedding and searched for his former position. Elio moved to get up:

„You know, with Bach, it‘s hit or miss. You can‘t have a lukewarm relationship with him.“ Elio scrambled farther down on the bed:

„I‘d say only about five percent of my students enjoy playing Bach.“

„Really, so few?“

Elio nodded and knelt on the bed:

„Your son is in good company, don‘t worry. But I won‘t torture him any longer, there‘s so much else to choose from. Do you want any water?“

„Yes, please. But wait.“ Laurent moved towards Elio who was already standing in front of the bed, hugged his lithe, porcelain body and drew him close. With his hands in the small of his back, he pressed his face against Elio‘s flat tummy before kissing him gently. Elio caressed his hair. They enjoyed some silent, tender moments before Elio leaned in and kissed the top of Laurent‘s head:

„Be right back.“

He returned presently with two glasses of water and went to the kitchen again to fetch one glass of white wine. Using one glass was the only couple-like thing they did – apart from having sex, that is – and originated from the early times when Elio‘s kitchen was only sparsely equipped and he had indeed just one glass for wine. This was before Annella came on her first visit, smiled when inspecting the cupboards and took Elio to Monoprix to get four sets of matching dishes and glasses to go with them. Laurent and Elio still adhered to their old ritual and shared their first sips of wine before Elio snuggled down in bed again.

„And how was your week? Apart from reluctant teenagers?“

„Oh, fine, fine. I rehearsed a lot with Anne. We are playing in the „Musée de la vie romantique“ Thursday in two weeks. It‘s a wonderful program, Brahms F-Major, Beethoven A-Major and Debussy.“

„Sounds wonderful. I‘d love to hear the Brahms, but I won‘t make it on time on Thursdays, you know. Do you start with it?“

Elio shook his head: 

„Debussy is first, Brahms after the intermission.“

„I‘d love to come. Do you mind if I sneak in?“

„No. You have inventive ways of sneaking in...“ Elio stroked Laurent‘s dick and raised his eyebrows. Laurent grinned and kissed him.

„How is Lucille doing, do you think she can manage?“

„Thirty second week. The stairs start being a challenge.“

„Women are remarkable“, Elio said.

„Yes, they are. They are the better humans.“

„I‘ll ask her next time I meet her if I shall reserve seats for the two of you, all right?“

„Thanks“, Laurent nodded.

„And – wait a minute“ - Elio scrambled up again and traipsed naked through the room. He searched for his diary and took out two slips of paper. „I had a strange encounter. Of sorts. I didn‘t meet anyone, but – look here.“

He handed Laurent the first mysterious request together with an other one which had appeared under his doorstep today, again while he practiced.

„Who is this?“

„I have no idea.“

„How did you get them?“

„They were slipped under my door while I practiced. While I was occupied and couldn‘t look over the courtyard.“

„You didn‘t see anyone?

„No“, Elio shook his head. „I also asked the folks down at the gilder‘s and they didn‘t notice anyone. But when I played the Liszt, someone up there clapped.“ Elio indicated with his shoulder the lighted windows of his neighbours. Looking over at the buildings, he suddenly became aware of his nakedness and slid up in bed again, out of view of the windows.

„You played it? For this anonymous person?“

Elio nodded.

„Both pieces?“

„No.“ Elio took the most recent slip. He had been asked for Bach‘s „Wachet auf“, a piece with deep personal memories for him. He didn‘t want to share this with the mysterious person. He was even a bit annoyed the stalker had touched such hidden strings in him. It felt even a bit scary. That was also the reason he shared the whole story with Laurent. Who reacted as concerned as Elio had expected:

„I don‘t like it that someone is watching you. Playing with you like that. Ignore him. Or her. Please. This is already creepy enough. This person can show their face, tell us their name, and then we can invite them properly. But I don‘t feel good knowing you all alone here and being stalked.“

„It‘s no stalking!“

Laurent shook his head: „I don‘t know… Could be. Do you want a restraining order?“

Elio laughed: „Addressed to – whom? Mysterious music lover, please stay away from me?“

„I could write something and pin it to your door.“

„We are not in the Wild West here, are we? But thanks, chéri.“ Elio stroked Laurent‘s thigh.

„No, seriously – this feels weird. And you all alone here in your little house at night. I don‘t like it.“

„Then better stay here tonight“, Elio smirked. He stretched out close to Laurent and drew him into his arms. Laurent always stayed the night but gave in to Elio‘s banter. He gently slid one leg over Elio‘s and murmured:

„You know, I might just do that.“

Later, after they had made love a second time, eaten some bread and cheese and taken showers, they got ready to sleep. Elio lay on his back and held Laurent in his arms. He let his eyes lazily wander over the sky visible through the large skylight above his head and followed a blinking airplane when he felt a sudden thud on the bed. Laurent started and cursed when Minou hopped onto Elio‘s chest and started to knead ecstatically:

„Elio, this damned cat! I told you I can‘t have him in bed!“

Minou looked at Laurent reproachfully, froze for two seconds and continued his enthusisatic display of affection again. He knew that the strange smelling man who clearly disliked him was just a passing occurrence. Tomorrow, their peaceful idyll would be restored again. Minou rubbed his nose at Elio‘s, turned dignified and disappeared as silently as he had come.

„I‘d appreciate it if you took the cat‘s feelings into consideration next time“, Elio said seriously. „I mean it.“

„It‘s either me or the cat. You can choose.“

A sudden hostility hung between them until Laurent tried to gloss over his rude behaviour:

„Come on, it‘s just a cat...“

„He‘s my guest as much as you. All right? Show a bit more politeness next time, please.“

„I cannot believe we are talking about a cat“, Laurent groaned.

Elio gave him a severe look, gathered the sheets around him and turned his back to his lover.

After some uncomfortable, strained minutes, Elio felt a hand tentatively caressing his hip. Laurent slid closer and whispered into his ear:

„I‘m sorry, please forgive me. It‘s your place and I shouldn‘t have...“

Elio bumped him with his butt and snuggled back into Laurent‘s arms.

„Yes, you shouldn‘t have… Minou is important to me. The only joy in my solitary life.“

„Are you lonely?“, Laurent asked amazed.

Elio was silent for some seconds until he conceded:

„I am, sometimes. Still not over the death of my father, you know. Sometimes it just feels good to have a living, warm creature besides you.“

Laurent sighed:

„I‘m sorry, chéri. Shall I get the cat back?“

„No“, Elio shook his head in the dark. His curls tickled Laurent. „He has his pride, you know.“

„Next time, then?“

„Next time“, Elio confirmed. Even if he had his doubts if Laurent remembered his clemency two weeks from now.


	3. Finding him

Laurent made up for his beastly behaviour by giving Elio one of the most drawn-out, slow and heavenly blow jobs he‘d had in a long time the next morning. The sun grazed his old wooden floor in golden shafts and everything looked fresh and new. Their dispute late at night seemed like a dark cloud that had completely vanished. They had coffee and apricots in bed before Laurent hopped into the shower again, got dressed and kissed Elio good bye. Elio stepped onto his narrow balcony in his boxers and t-shirt to wave to Laurent and also in order to check if the large entrance was already unlocked. It was, he noticed with a quick glance before lifting Minou up in his arms. The cat had run happily towards him, tail straight up in the air and curled at the end. He purred even before Elio could press his face into his soft fur. When Elio turned to step over the awkward ledge of his French door, balancing the large tomcat in his arms, he had the impression that something stirred at one of the upper windows, some swift movement as if someone wanted to hide himself. He looked up again – nothing. Several windows were open, but the house seemed quiet and still drowsing.

Minou craved Elio‘s presence even more than food and came straight to bed with him when Elio settled back into the tangled sheets with another cup of coffee, his diary and a pen. Minou snuggled as close into Elio‘s thigh as possible and clearly showed that they needed to make up for lost time. When gazing into the air between two sentences, Elio carressed Minou‘s chin. Minou purred before curling even closer into the bedding.

Later, while Elio stripped the bed and piled the dirty sheets on the floor next to the door, his phone rang: his mother. They had always been close, but since his father‘s death, they spoke even more often on the phone, at least once a week despite the considerable expense international phone calls meant. Elio tried to finish the bed with one hand while holding the phone with the other:

„Maman. How are you?“

„All right, all right, and you, piccino? Sun‘s up in your place?“

„Yes, it is as a matter of fact. Shining right into my room, showing me all the dust flying around because I‘m just changing my bed sheets. Minou‘s sleeping on the pile of dirty laundry on the floor. I wonder how to take the stuff to the laundromat later on. He‘ll be mad at me.“

„Well, you just have to wait until his majesty wakes up. Stroke him from me, will you? Between the ears?“

„I will, maman, I will. He misses you. Says your rosemary smells especially nice this year.“

„How are your herbs coming along?“

„Oh, very good. Still not much larger than when you planted them, but healthy and good looking. They just need some more sun. How‘s the orchard?“

„Splendid. The blossoms were very promising this year. Anchise predicts a true flood of peaches.“

„I‘m glad to hear this!“ Elio had finished stripping the bed and sat down on his piano bench. „Have you been swimming this morning?“

„Yes, I have. It‘s so refreshing.“

„You got goose-bumps for an hour afterwards, you mean.“

„No! I sat down at your father‘s place for breakfast. You know, the sun‘s coming there early.“

Elio tidied the music on his piano with one hand, shifted volumes back and forth:

„I miss him so much.“

„So do I, piccino, so do I.“

They both were silent for a moment, trying to calm the burning pain Samuel‘s death still caused.

„I‘ll come in June, maman, and stay all summer. We‘ll sit together in papá‘s place, all right?“

„Yes.“ Annella‘s voice sounded different. Elio feared she might start to cry and hated being too far away to comfort her, but she found her composure again:

„Listen, chéri. The reason I‘m calling – besides wanting to hear your voice – is: I got a strange call from Oliver.“

„Oliver?“ Elio stopped tracing the dust on his shiny black piano.

„Yes. Last Sunday. He sounded – strange. You remember his last christmas card? All smiling, telling about their family vacation and so on?“

Elio remembered last year‘s photo very well, as he did all of the last eighteen pictures since Oliver‘s wedding. Oliver had aged practically not at all. The only indication of the passage of time was the height of his sons. And the name of their Golden Retriever had changed after eleven years. The dog looked disturbingly the same. 

„Well – he seems to have moved out already in October. And they took such a perfect christmas photo together anyway. Questi Americani...“ Annella sighed.

„Oliver moved out?“

„Yes. In fact, he‘s divorced now.“

„What?“ Elio‘s voice rose. He got up nervously, searched for his dusting cloth and started to wipe his grand piano frantically – a certain indication for emotional turmoil in his life. Annella was silent. 

„He didn‘t tell you?“, she asked finally.

„No.“ Elio felt dumbstruck.

„He asked for your address last week. Your phone number also. Said he might be in Paris soon.“

Elio sat down heavily on the bench and crumpled the cloth in his hands. After having skipped some beats, his heart started to thump heavily. 

„Elio? You‘re all right?“

„Yes. No. I mean...“ Elio was silent.

„You haven‘t been in touch?“

He shook his head: „Not at all. He stopped answering my letters, so...“

„I had the impression he hasn‘t forgotten you at all.“

„Do you?“ Elio sat up straighter.

„No, he hasn‘t.“

For some seconds, the static of the line was the only noise between them. Until Elio said:

„I haven‘t forgotten him also.“

„I know, piccino. That‘s why I called. To – well, warn you, or just let you know… You know.“

„Thanks, mom. I think I just need some time to...“

„Take your time, chéri. You know where to find me?“

„Yes. I love you, mom.“

„I love you too, sweetheart. Have a good weekend, all right?“

„You too.“

The news from Oliver disturbed Elio more than he had expected. The pain he hadn‘t told him about the divorce himself was almost as sharp as the pain memories of his father stirred in him. He was confused, raw and hurting and wondered if he ever might find peace again. Oliver didn‘t contact him because he was not important to him anymore. Just a fling from the past. No one you informed about significant changes in your life. That was a thing between adults, information to pass on to other adults like his mother. Elio sighed. He looked around his dishevelled room. Putting on new sheets would calm him. Making everything smooth and fresh again. Yes. This would help. And later on, a good practice session with the more demanding parts of the Brahms before his rehearsal with Anne today. Right. And watering his pots on the balcony. Caring for others made you forget pinching worries. Speaking of – Minou certainly needed some breakfast now.

Even if Elio worked through the whole list of self-care items he could think of and had a good rehearsal with Anne, he was still in a slightly disquieted state of mind when he returned at night. The courtyard lingered again in the soft blue-violet, drawn out dusk typical of May nights in Paris: luminous, silvery and pearly and yet full of intense colours. Twilight would hang suspended for what felt like hours before a gentle darker blue finally wrapped the city in a cloak of stars. If he sat on his balcony, Elio knew he wouldn‘t need a light for a long time if he didn‘t want to read. While unlocking his door, he decided to do just that. Sit outside, have a single, indulgent cigarette and some wine, think about the Brahms and mainly his mother‘s call this morning. He still hadn‘t processed everything. Even if the apartment was dim and in a delicious state of twilight, Elio‘s eyes discovered the white slip of paper under his doorstep immediately. He started. Three times in three days was not normal anymore. He picked it up, feeling annoyed and now really stalked, but when he read the new request, his anger morphed into outright fear:

„Would you play the piece Bach dedicated to his younger brother?“

Someone was here. Someone was watching him, and this someone knew him inwardly. Knew secrets of his very personal life he had never shared with anyone. Except in his diaries. Had someone read them? While he was absent? Who could know… There was just one person on earth who knew him as intimately as that. Knew what the „Wachet auf“ meant for him, and also the Capriccio. Elio looked around his dim room frantically. The corners lay in shadows. He took one step forward and switched on the light on his piano, and the one next to his sofa. The room seemed peaceful. No lunatic here. At least he hoped so. Elio felt watched, anyway. Maybe better to turn the light out again? He made himself an easier target if he was illuminated like this. No, leave them on.

Elio‘s inner turmoil reached new heights when he heard a noise in the courtyard. Slowly, he approached one of the French doors and opened it softly. While he pulled the door inside as silently as possible, he saw one of his neighbours stowing his bike in a corner of the yard, humming softly and slinging his backpack over his shoulder when he was done. Elio let out a breath. He started to turn mad. 

Elio stepped out onto his small landing and listened intently. Outside the closed front entrance, he knew the noise of the big city would drone faintly but constantly: cars, trains, overground metros, sirens. Here, everything was quiet except for the occasional clear and traceable noise. Planes overhead, a child crying in his sleep, the clatter of the trash bin or a closing door. Elio looked around, the mysterious, troubling slip of paper still crumpled in his hands. Nothing. Well, he wouldn‘t come now. It was still sort of light. Serial killers came at dark, didn‘t they? He thought about calling his mother or Laurent, but knew both would die of worries if he told them what happened here. He might get his phone, though. What was the number of the police in France? Should he put it on speed-dial? Elio snorted. How far had he come. He was on his way to lose his mind, wasn‘t he? Suddenly, he felt an immense anger rising in his chest. He was close to rattling the wrought-iron railing of his balcony and shout into the courtyard. „Who are you?“ when the light in the right staircase went on. The building was only sparsely lighted, but the stairway suddenly gleamed in all it‘s length. Singled out like a tower in the dark like that. Elio heard a door high up and saw someone descending the stairs. Slowly, deliberately. The figure appeared on the fourth floor and disappeared again behind the curve of the staircase. Still slowly. With a scary resoluteness. Third floor. It was a man. A tall man. Elio was torn between running away, away from his exposed position there on the landing, closer to the door leading onto the street where more people would see him, and slapping himself mentally for getting into panic over a neighbour possibly just bringing out the trash. Second floor – the person was still too far away to be seen clearly, but he definitely had turned his head into Elio‘s direction. Elio let loose of the railing and decided to step down into the courtyard. He could always pretend he wanted to check on his bike. He darted down the stairs – his very own stairs which the stranger had taken three times now – and hid himself in the shadows close to a wall in the same moment when the large glass door to the second staircase opened and a tall man stepped into the courtyard. There were some scrawny bushes in the middle of the space hiding him from view, but he wandered past them, very slowly now, and craned his neck in direction of Elio‘s house. Elio held his breath. One more tentative step – the stranger‘s eyes hadn‘t adapted from the lighted staircase to the blue-violet dimness outside – before he stopped. And Elio heard a familiar melodious voice calling his name. Softly and askingly, but – his name. Elio gasped and pressed the paper to his chest. He had hallucinations. It couldn‘t be - 

„Elio?“ The stranger walked slowly across the courtyard and stopped under Elio‘s lighted loft. It was Oliver, in all of his tall glory. No mistake. Elio would recognize those long legs in espadrilles anywhere. Elio stepped out of the shadows and approached Oliver from the side:

„Oliver?“

Oliver turned, startled and surprised when he heard the voice next to him and not up on the balcony, but broke out in a dazzling smile while they walked towards each other.

„Are you real?“

„Of course I am!“, Oliver smiled. Elio still held back and didn‘t come closer: 

„You‘re not a dream?“

„No. But you are still a goose. Come here.“

„Wha -“ Elio couldn‘t finish his cry of anguish, surprise and deepest joy. He felt strong arms around himself, pulling him towards a broad, familiar chest, cradling and sheltering him. He pulled his head away and looked into Oliver‘s face. The gesture was so familiar, his height, his warm hands, but he needed to make sure anyway that he didn‘t suffer from utter delusion or beginning lunacy. But – it was Oliver. Smiling, blinking his lashes a little too often, looking down on him lovingly.

„How – what – that was you? The mysterious requests?“

Oliver nodded, his hands still on Elio‘s back.

„Why? Why did you have to? You troubled and disturbed me greatly! Why couldn‘t you just have walked up at my door and knocked like any normal person? Why did you stalk me like that?“

Oliver shrugged and started to say something when Elio violently slapped his chest and wriggled free from him:

„I hate you! You scared me!“

„No, you don‘t hate me.“ Elio felt himself embraced again and a warm, self-assured voice tickling his ear. „You don‘t hate me.“, Oliver repeated and pressed him closer into his arms. Elio crumpled and let himself get loose in the strong embrace.

„No, I don‘t“, he whispered, going limp in Oliver‘s arms. He felt himself being pulled upwards.

„You‘re not going to faint, are you?“

Elio looked up and shook his head.

„No, I won‘t. But you have some explaining to do. Come on.“ He took Oliver‘s hand and pulled him towards his door.

They still held hands after they had entered the apartment. Elio had decided to never let go of him again. He pressed Oliver against the curve of his grand piano, cornered him with his whole body and squeezed his hand:

„You almost killed me. I‘m too old for stuff like that. I will never ever let you go again. You‘d kill me if you go.“

Oliver looked at him gravely:

„I won‘t go. I came here to stay. To find you and to stay. With you.“

Without losing one more second, Elio pressed his lips onto Oliver‘s, pressing his hand between them. Oliver kissed him back, as ardently and passionately as back in their one summer in the villa. His lips, his tongue, his cheeks, his fingers on Elio – everything was still the same. No time seemed to have passed. They staggered away from the piano, Elio with his hands under Oliver‘s shirt and clinging hungrily on to his lips when Oliver managed to free himself for a few seconds and asked blurredly:

„The guy this morning?“

„My lover. He‘s married. Expecting his fourth child soon.“

Oliver bent Elio backwards and delved into another kiss when Elio gasped:

„Micol?“

„Has a new boyfriend.“ Elio felt expert fingers searching for the buttons of his jeans.

„Your sons?“, pressing Oliver to him and exploring all the length of his naked back under the shirt.

„Living with her. It‘s all right.“

Elio‘s hands fidgeted with the buttons of Oliver‘s shirt, clumsily and impatiently, until Oliver panted:

„Just pull it.“

Together, they tore and pulled the shirt over Oliver‘s head, impatiently, hungrily. Elio felt his jeans disappear while he clung onto Oliver‘s shoulders and kissed and bit his neck. Oliver wrestled briefly with Elio‘s underwear – Elio moaned loudly when he felt Oliver‘s hands on his bare butt. He had missed those large, gentle hands. He grind into Oliver before pulling apart and lifting his t-shirt over his head. They had stumbled on towards the bed. A lavender evening sky shone through the skylight, but they had only eyes for each other. Oliver was naked in a matter of seconds and they embraced like starved. Collapsing onto the bed, Oliver murmured:

„Isn‘t this – sort of rushed?“

„I waited almost nineteen years for you! I wouldn‘t call this rushed!“ Elio looked at him reproachfully under messy curls. „Or would you rather…?“

„No, no, I can‘t wait one minute longer!“

Elio tried to reach the drawer of his night stand. Oliver stopped him with a commanding „Wait!“ and started to kiss his long, graceful back, all the way down his spine to his soft butt. Elio whimpered, freed himself, groped frantically for a condom and shoved it into Oliver‘s hands.

„I need you. Need you now“, he gasped while sliding up on the bed.


	4. Lovers again

After Oliver had disposed of the condom, he let himself slowly fall back into Elio‘s arms again. Elio embraced him, wrapped his legs tightly around him and pressed him to his heart. Oliver kissed him warmly onto the mouth before he hid his face at Elio‘s collarbone. Both sighed contentedly and giggled when they noticed their simultaneous moans. They stayed intertwined and were silent. Elio opened his eyes. The sky was still lavender-coloured. A deeper lavender than before, but it was still light enough outside to discern Oliver‘s golden hair. Elio stroked it gently. How often he had dreamed of this hair. How he had longed to hold Oliver like this again.

„Pinch me“, he demanded.

Oliver growled, searched for his arm and bit the soft skin inside his elbow lightly. He lifted himself up on his elbow and looked sweetly into Elio‘s eyes:

„No dream. Unless we dream the same thing.“

„I cannot believe you‘re here.“

„I cannot believe we slept together. I thought – I‘d take you to dinner first? Do some small-talk over olives first, or whatever the French do?“

„I think this is quite French. The French prelude to a successful evening?“ Elio joked while rubbing Oliver‘s bum with his heels.

„I see. You adjusted gracefully, I have to say.“

Elio smiled and lifted his mouth for a kiss. After having separated their lips, Oliver slid down and stretched out next to Elio. Elio traced his eyebrows with a tender finger, his cheeks, the side of his neck, caressed the whole length of his body until he let his hand rest on Oliver‘s hips. He sidled up closer to him, kissed his sweaty chest and leaned his forehead against it.

„You‘re amazing. I never expected a welcome like that.“

„Well… Enough pent-up energy. Besides, I‘m afraid you might disappear again for twenty years. I told myself: get as much as you can, while you can.“ 

Oliver laughed silently and drew Elio closer:

„ I won‘t leave. Not this time. I promise.“

„You promise?“ Elio had scrambled up and looked at Oliver seriously. Oliver nodded.

„You almost broke my heart back then“, he said simply. Oliver flinched, caressed Elio‘s arm and said:

„I know. Your parents told me so. I – I cannot tell you how sorry I am.“

Elio held his gaze. His eyes were large and dark.

„Heart of my heart“, Oliver whispered softly. Elio blinked heavily. „That‘s what you are, and what you have always been. All those years. Even if I was far away from you.“ Elio turned his head and bit on his lips. Oliver turned his face back gently with a hand under his chin: „Don‘t cry, my love. Don‘t.“ He brushed Elio‘s eyelids lightly, lighter than a butterfly, with his lips before kissing his raspberry pink mouth. Elio sighed and drew in a long breath.

„I missed you so much it almost killed me. I cannot go through this again.“

„You won‘t have to. I promise. Not until I die.“

„Don‘t die!“, Elio cried. His eyes were moist now for real. Oliver shook his head, took Elio in his arms again and said:

„Not now. And I try to die after you, all right? I‘ll do my best.“

„Stop it. That‘s morbid. I want to live with you before we die together.“ Elio looked at him, truly vexed and troubled. Oliver nodded and arranged himself next to Elio again.

„Cor cordium“, he murmured. He rested his hand on Elio‘s waist. Elio tucked his tangled curls from his face. „You still look like when you were seventeen. But I like it that your hair is longer.“ Oliver touched a reluctant curl that kept falling back into Elio‘s face. Elio smiled, punched the cushion to make it more comfortable for his head and asked:

„Now tell me everything. Why are you here? Here, in my place? When will you go back? What about your sons?“

Oliver smiled at the flood of questions and searched for Elio‘s hand:

„I‘d love for my sons to see the villa. Someday. Whenever. They shall see the place where their father found his great love.“

„Micol wasn‘t your great love?“

„No. Never. A good approximation, good enough for a parallel life, and to placate my parents, but – never more potential than for a parallel life.“

„Why did you do this to yourself?“ Elio whispered.

„I don‘t know. Especially not after what we experienced just now. I cannot believe I denied myself this kind of connection, of pleasure.“ He stopped: „And denied it to you also, Elio. I don‘t know how to apologize.“

„We wasted too many years.“

„Yes, we did. Because I was unable to – you know.“ Elio sighed.

„Let‘s start from scratch. Those years were not – wasted. We just spent them differently. It was a valid life, still. And brought you two sons.“ Oliver nodded. „And now – on to the second half of the play!“

„Are we still half-way?“, Oliver asked. Elio shrugged: „Nobody knows. Let‘s just enjoy every single day.“

„But, go on. How did you find me? How did you get into the building next door? How long have you been here? That was really creepy, you know?“

„Your father told me your address already when you moved here. Of course I copied it down immediately. When he told me you lived in the same street as the Musée de la vie romantique, I looked up everything about your quarter. Knew that I had to get off the métro at Trinité, walk up the street, turn right...“

Elio closed his eyes:

„I cannot believe you had my address all the time. Why did you never write? Never came?“

Oliver shrugged. They‘d been through this.

„But my mother said you asked her only yesterday for the address. Why?“

„Guess I wanted to see how she reacted. If I could find out something about you. She said you still lived alone, so I was amazed to see this guy in your place yesterday… Well, not amazed, because you are the most beautiful angel and I expected you not to live like a monk, but, anyway...“

„And how did you manage to sneak into the house next door?“

Oliver smiled broadly: „This really is weird. Random luck of the universe, I‘d say. A colleague of mine mentioned his Paris apartment and told me to forward something for him to his address here. When he scribbled it down, I recognized it immediately. Also that the number must be next to your house. I didn‘t know by then that you lived in this tiny house in the courtyard. I didn‘t mean to spy on you, I promise! But when my colleague invited me to spend a week in Paris in his place while he was away, I couldn‘t resist. I meant to get in touch with you as soon as I was settled in, but first I was jetlagged, then I thought I‘d get sick, and finally I saw you with this cute guy. I almost left...“

„No! I‘d shoot myself if you ever told me that!“

Oliver patted Elio‘s naked, skinny shoulder and leaned in to kiss his collarbone:

„Don‘t. I‘m here now.“

„But it was creepy.“

„I know. I‘m sorry. I think I also needed some time to really make up my mind. The divorce came through in winter already, but it felt cheap to just show up here and tear you from your life because I‘m ready for you now. After all that time.“

„But I have always been ready for you“, Elio said simply. Oliver looked into his eyes sadly. Elio started to stroke his cheek, his face, and bent over to kiss him. He stopped suddenly:

„And who wrote the mysterious requests?“

Oliver blushed. Did he really? Elio‘s curiosity increased.

„My colleague...“ Oliver said reluctantly. „Before he left. We overlapped one day here. We heard you practice, of course, and he told me about the dark haired pianist with wild curls living down there in the yard. We weren‘t sober anymore and wondered if we could make you play a specific piece. I asked him to write the first one. When it worked, I faked his handwriting on the next ones. I‘m sorry.“

Elio punched his chest before rolling on top of Oliver. He felt so familiar, even after all this time. Their movements were dreamlike and intimate, and when Elio arranged himself fully on top of him and whispered „Elio Elio Elio...“ right into his ear, memories flooded them. Oliver didn‘t need to tell him that he remembered everything. Elio felt it in his fingers, in the way his hands touched and caressed and held him, in the way their lips found each other. These were the fingers of someone who had practised ghost caresses hundreds, thousands of times in his dreams. And they were right back in the villa, in the hot, confusing summer days of their one confusing summer so many years ago.

Much later, when they had finally decided to go to sleep and switched off the two remaining lights in the loft, Elio felt the familiar thud of someone hopping onto his bed. Oliver raised his head drowsily and murmured:

„What‘s that?“

Elio cradled Minou who already had occupied his usual spot on his chest protectively with both hands and said:

„Just a cat. I will put him outside, wait...“

„No, why? It‘s your cat, isn‘t it? I saw you lugging him around.“

„It‘s a shared cat, actually. I will just...“ Elio moved to get up but felt Oliver‘s hands on his:

„Just a few minutes, please. I always wanted a cat.“

„You did?“ Elio asked amazed. He felt Oliver‘s hands touching his own on his way to Minou‘s back. They gently stroked the cat simultaneously who purred heavily. His kneading paws on Elio‘s bare skin certainly would leave marks.

„Micol was allergic. That‘s why we had a dog. And my mother claimed cats are dirty. Fleabags.“

„Minou is a very cultivated, well-groomed tomcat, aren‘t you?“ Elio scratched Minou‘s ears. „The only scent he ever uses is by Hermès.“

Oliver laughed softly and caressed Minou‘s cheek. Minou got up, tail curled and ears perked, and rubbed his nose on Oliver‘s before going for his chin. Minou was ecstatic by the attention he unexpectedly found in the cozy large bed. He wandered in circles, helplessly considering his options: Elio‘s chest again? The delicious, kind stranger? Both, somehow? With a loud purr, he decided to settle himself between the two, his face buried on Elio‘s chest, his hind legs pressing against Oliver. Oliver lifted Elio‘s hand, kissed his wrist and settled their intertwined hands gently on the warm, soft cat:

„I‘m so glad I found you. Both of you.“

Elio looked around his dim room, lighted only by the faint glow from outside, and thought he might burst from happiness and love.


	5. Living together in Montmartre

And suddenly, Oliver was in Elio‘s life again, as if no time had passed at all. What had seemed like an unreachable dream, like an utopian desire for so many years, had become reality in the blink of a second. There were moments when Elio feared he might wake up and find himself alone and in his former single life again, moments when his heart was too full with love and gratefulness and ongoing amazement if this kind of life together really could be true: Oliver, finishing a joke and looking at him naughtily while breaking a piece of baguette with his long, slender fingers. Oliver, rumpled and flushed with sleep in the morning, fidgeting with the unfamiliar appliances in his tiny kitchen in order to get the coffee going while Elio watched him from bed, too satisfied and fagged out to get up already. Oliver reading on the narrow balcony, his interminable legs stretched out sideways on the railing, calling to Elio over his shoulder to share a certain passage with him. Oliver falling asleep in Elio‘s arms at night and spooning him from behind in the early morning hours. Waking him with a soft, moist kiss on his back. Oliver.

Elio had never shared his mundane, every-day life with someone. In the remaining three weeks of the school year, he found out that it was a great joy to do so as long as this someone was Oliver. His loft was never too small for the two of them. They had visited the upstairs flat of Oliver‘s colleague just once in order to fetch Oliver‘s stuff, clean out the fridge and start a load of laundry with the sheets and towels. Elio noticed with relief that it was impossible to look inside his airy apartment from up there. According to Oliver, his music floated heavenwards distinctly, but he couldn‘t be watched from this angle. 

Oliver participated in as many activities as the last busy weeks of term offered. Elio had to play in numerous graduate exams at the École normale which were held as public recitals, usually in early evening. Oliver sat in on every single one of them, indefatigable, kissing Elio‘s hands and fingers later at night in awe of the magic they produced. He also attended the summer concert of Elio‘s younger students at the „Atelier“, and even if the kind of performance was very different to the outstanding, professional recitals at the École normale, Oliver enjoyed to see Elio encourage his young students with warm smiles and affectionate little pats on tiny shoulders whenever they had finished a four-hand piece.

Laurent didn‘t know about Oliver yet when he and Lucille attended the summer concert of their kids, but Elio called him the next morning. He took it with the usual lightness that had been the steady, pleasant undertone of their relationship all those years. They had decided on no clinging, enough freedom for the two of them early on, and Laurent respected Elio‘s decision amiably. He just asked him to go on teaching his children anyway as he couldn‘t imagine a more sensitive tutor for them. Elio promised to do so. He didn‘t want to burn all the bridges behind him, and, moreover, didn‘t want the children to go through the upheaval a change of familiar persons meant for young souls.

*

When Elio was gone teaching, Oliver continued his daily runs, including the famous stairs of Montmartre leading up and down hill in his program („You are a true martyr running those stairs!“, Elio exclaimed), worked on his aprication daily on the balcony while reading, went grocery shopping and surprised Elio with delicious homecooked meals. One morning, Elio gave him the folder with his unsent letters, turning it in his hands insecurely and asking Oliver if he might be interested in soppy letters he‘d never sent.

„Letters for me?“

Elio nodded.

„Why didn‘t you send them?“

Elio shrugged and almost blushed.

„I don‘t know, you never answered, your children were so young… I didn‘t want anyone to find them, I guess.“

„I‘d love to read them.“

Elio handed him the heavy folder with a kiss. When he left the house, he looked back up onto his balcony. Oliver sat there in the tentative spring sun, long legs stretched out on the second chair, the letters in his hands, and waved at him. Elio blew him a kiss through the air and smiled. This was the sight he craved to come back to every evening, he mused while unlocking his bike.

When he returned just a few hours later – with every finished exam, his teaching load diminished – Oliver wasn‘t on his balcony anymore. Elio skipped up the stairs, quickly opened his door and found Oliver unoccupied and with empty hands on his sofa. He seemed startled at Elio‘s appearance but tried a brave smile. Something was wrong.

„What happened? Are you all right?“ Elio asked while quickly crossing the room. He sat down next to Oliver. His eyes looked different. Smaller, slightly reddish. „Chéri?“, Elio probed and caressed Oliver‘s cheek. Oliver sighed loudly and put his hands around Elio in a desperate gesture. 

„I‘m so glad you‘re back. I‘ll never leave you again. Never“, he mumbled. Elio hugged him surprised before pushing him away gently in order to see his face:

„What happened? Is Micol okay? Your sons?“

Oliver looked puzzled:

„I guess so?“

Elio frowned. „Then what‘s the matter?“

He followed Oliver‘s eyes to the folder with his unsent letters on the desk.

„Oh… You read them“, he stated.

Oliver nodded: „I had no idea what I was putting you through. I don‘t know how to apologize.“

Elio shook his head limply. With Oliver here, breathing and living and as gorgeous as nineteen years ago, the letters seemed a relict of a long gone past. Arid, empty years finally behind him. A sad testament of a parallel life he hoped never to live again.

„Let‘s burn them at the villa. This season is over now.“

„No!“ Oliver laid protective hands on the folder. „This is a document of your pain. Of the pain I inflicted on you. Let me never forget I did that to you. Let me make up for it for the rest of my life.“

Elio grinned suddenly, pursed his lips and said generously: „Well, you may do that.“ He raised an eyebrow, mainly in order to lighten up the situation. Oliver stayed serious:

„I decided: this year, it‘s my turn to write the letter. We‘ll be in Italy around July eighth, won‘t we?“ Elio nodded. „This year, you will finally get an answer from me. And we‘ll put it into the folder. Next year‘s letter also.“

„And the letter ten years from now also“, Elio whispered and intertwined their hands. Oliver nodded, raised their hands and kissed Elio‘s wrist. Elio moved closer to reach his lips and kissed his eyelids tenderly:

„Have you cried?“

Oliver nodded.

„You goose...“, Elio teased him before pulling him into his arms again.

*

Oliver accompanied Elio proudly to his recital at the „Musée de la vie romantique“, just a few doors down from Elio‘s apartment. Elio had played here before – besides, he loved to come sit in the greenhouse converted into an elegant and cozy little café for a change of scenery. Antoine and he regularly had lunch there, the staff knew them, the PR-lady knew him from trying out the piano in the lovely intimate new concert hall in the former atelier and rehearsing with Anne to get the acoustics, in short: he practically played at home. Elio was never nervous when playing, and even less here. 

The night was clement and warm. Sweet scents from the old lilac stretching over a bench, the wisteria climbing a wall and the first roses in the garden perfumed the air. Elio and Anne mingled with the audience during intermission. Elio saw with surprise that Laurent and Oliver stood close together, seemingly relaxed, glasses with drinks in their hands. Laurent laughed openly at something Oliver just said. Elio approached them slowly, taking in the view of the two men who meant so much to him, and remarked:

„You met already?“

„Yes“, Laurent nodded. „Settled the affair like gentlemen, didn‘t we?“

Oliver continued: 

„No duel in the Bois de Boulogne at dawn.“

Elio grinned: „Well, I‘m glad about that. I‘d hate to get up that early to...“

„Elio! Come here?“, Anne cried. She stood in front of the trailing blue blossoms of the wisteria, the PR-lady next to her with a camera in her hands. „A photo?“

Elio patted Oliver‘s elbow and heard Laurent say: „Getting in full competition with all the musicians and poets coming and going here two hundred years ago with his velvet suit, isn‘t he?“

Oliver nodded at Elio. They had had their own private moments earlier at home when Elio surprised Oliver by changing into the magnificent emerald velvet suit – a bold choice, but perfect for the setting and the spring evening. Oliver couldn‘t get enough of running his hands along the thick plushy fabric. Comparing it to Minou‘s nose was one of the more harmless compliments Elio got.

Anne wore a simple, but elegant white eyelet dress with a wide skirt that easily accommodated her cello between her knees. When they had arranged themselves in front of the wisteria, hands around each other, the PR-lady exclaimed:

„What a sight you are – the perfect ad for a wedding!“

Elio kissed Anne‘s cheek softly and whispered:

„I‘d marry you at once if you weren‘t married already.“

Anne retorted:

„I‘d marry you if you didn‘t have two lovers already. Look at them. I can‘t tell who‘s more smitten, you little devil.“

Elio pulled her towards him at the waist. Anne swayed and laughed loudly. A journalist who had also taken photos approached them and asked:

„And now just Monsieur Perlman, if you don‘t mind?“

Anne smiled and stepped over to Elio‘s lovers:

„I‘m used to playing second fiddle, looks-wise, whenever Elio is around me. Salut, Laurent. And you must be Oliver?“

Oliver nodded and held out his hand. Two little girls suddenly danced around Anne, both in similar summer frocks like hers, and clung to her skirt.

„We‘ll disturb your idyll in Italy, did you hear already? I‘ll come with my family for a week in August because Elio and I need to practise. And Annella loves my little monsters here“, she tousled the dark curls of one of her girls affectionately. 

„So I heard. The villa is perfect for children. I‘m sure we‘ll have lots of fun.“

„Look at him. If he weren‘t so talented, he‘d be the perfect model“, Laurent said softly. He couldn‘t take his eyes off Elio. Elio winked at him when he noticed, excused himself from the journalist with a placating gesture of his hands and came over to the little group. He took Laurent‘s glass of wine, sipped from it and gave it back to him with a kiss on the cheek. Laurent nodded, slightly melancholic. Anne hugged them both and suggested:

„And Laurent and Lucille come to the villa also, with all of their children, and we‘ll live happily together. Right?“

„No, no, no. I won‘t inflict a new born on you.“

„Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen...“ The PR-lady slowly went through the courtyard to collect the audience for the second part of the concert. Elio snatched another sip of wine before Anne and he retreated among the first back into the hall.

When Elio and Oliver walked home the few hundred steps after the concert, Oliver was silent and seemed changed. He seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts and walked slower than usual, like in a dream. Elio looked at him sideways and tried to guess the cause of his mood swing. Oliver smiled at him quickly and brushed his velvety thigh on purpose before searching for Elio‘s hand. A delicious tension hung between them – Oliver‘s smile had been full of lust and naughtiness, but also shy. They still held hands when they arrived home. Elio put his music on the piano, turned and leant an elbow on it:

„You seem different. Did Laurent disturb you? I mean, I told you he‘d be there?“

Oliver shook his head, still not his usual self-assured self:

„It was you. You confused and disturbed and touched me strangely. With your Brahms. Well, no, first with this suit“ - Oliver stepped closer and touched Elio‘s arm as light as a feather before drawing it back again - „and then with the opening of the Brahms. You were so – manly. So commanding. Demanding. I love this virile energy in you“, Oliver almost whispered. His eyes rested in awe and love on Elio. Elio swallowed and started to shrug off his jacket:

„It‘s quite warm all of a sudden, isn‘t it?“

Oliver nodded and took off his own jacket. Elio came closer and stopped in front of him:

„You like it if I‘m clear and straightforward like in the Brahms?“

Oliver swallowed and nodded silently. His eyes were large. Elio raised his chin a bit:

„You like it if I set the tone and dictate the tempo?“

Again a silent nod before Oliver mumbled:

„I love it if you dominate. I love the force and power you have deep inside you. My beautiful angel. I love it if you play out that side in you. I‘d surrender any minute if I feel this energy.“

They still looked at each other without touching, even if sparks started to sizzle between them.

„Be careful what you wish for. Because I‘m still full of that energy.“ Elio looked deeply into Oliver‘s eyes. The both knew what they talked about.

„I want it. Please. I want you.“ Elio‘s lips curled into a faint smile when he heard Oliver asking as gently and humbly. He nodded and embraced him in one swift movement. They both clung at each other like starved. Elio whispered into Oliver‘s ear:

„I‘ve been dreaming about that...“

„I never did it with anyone else. I still have the memory of you imprinted in me. It never got erased.“

„I remember everything. My blushing virgin...“, Elio whispered while searching for the buttons of Oliver‘s shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for going on this ride with me. Your kudos and comments totally made my day(s)!  
> I plan one more chapter in Italy, but don't know when I'll get around to actually writing it. Stay tuned...


	6. Back at the villa again

When Oliver and Elio boarded the train to Italy, the temperatures in Paris were warm and mild, but not yet oppressing. Changing trains in Milan, Italy welcomed them with a moist, muggy heat invading every pore of them, curling every hair, making it difficult to breathe. Oliver tried a deep inhale while waiting for the smaller regional train to Clusone on a shadowless platform but managed only to gasp: „Back again, aren‘t we?“ and wiped his sweaty forehead. Elio smiled:

„Aprication starts for real now. Did you already stock up on sun lotion or should we get it in Moscazzano?“

The little regional train didn‘t have any air condition. It was almost empty and gave Elio and Oliver a chance to sit close together while they watched the monotone landscape change imperceptibly until it became more familiar to Elio: endless, plane fields. Neat rows of tall poplars. An occasional small river. 

Annella picked them up in person at the deserted station. The Perlman‘s car had changed, and the recent loss had left traces on Annella, but she was still lovely and elegant and welcomed them with a broad, happy smile, folding both of them into a funny embrace until hugging them individually and long.

„Oliver. Finally. It‘s so good to have you back.“

Oliver had to stoop even more than last time – Annella definitely had become shorter – and just nodded into her hair. He hadn‘t expected the sudden turmoil of emotions raging inside him. He had known about Samuel‘s death for months now, but seeing Annella suddenly without him, looking smaller, her beautiful eyes lined by unfamiliar wrinkles, made him feel the void her husband had left painfully.

Samuel‘s absence was even more palpable in the villa. Everything else had stayed the same: the crunching gravel under the slowly stopping car tires. The lush, dark green shrubbery and trees in the vast garden. Mafalda and Manfredi seemed also to have shrunk and moved a tad slower than before, but they still were lively and cheerful and simply overjoyed to see Signor Ulliva again. But Samuel was lacking, even on the short tour Elio and Oliver took together with Annella through the ground floor which doors stood wide open like before, and especially on the patio. When Annella saw Oliver intently looking at the empty chair where Samuel used to have breakfast, she patted his arm and said softly:

„It‘s still his chair. No one of us ever sits there. Guests do, but they don‘t know...“ Oliver put his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her against him. Elio watched him with large, grateful eyes before saying as softly as his mother:

„He‘s still here, maman. He sees us.“ He looked at Oliver: „We scattered some of his ashes here. I mean, not here exactly“, he added quickly when he saw Oliver‘s questioning look, „out there in the grass. Under that tree. Also – some farther back in the garden at the place where he liked to read.“ Oliver nodded and kissed the top of Annella‘s head.

„One day, someone will sit there again. And it will feel all right.“ Annella looked at him sweetly, but sighed:

„One year. I‘ll give myself one year to mourn him in as many ways as I need. We can talk about that chair in October, all right?“ She tried a brave smile. Elio took her hand:

„Take as many years as you need, maman. No one is pressing you.“

Oliver asked tentatively if he could see Samuel‘s study. He had been reluctant to see the room without it‘s gentle, wise owner and thought it best to get over with it as soon as possible. While Annella motioned him inside again, she said:

„We miss him most in there, but we also love to spend time in the study. Don‘t we, chéri?“ She put a hand on Elio‘s shoulder. He nodded. „We haven‘t changed anything yet. Have to be careful not to turn it into a mausoleum, though“, Annella smiled sadly.

„You‘ll know when the time comes.“, Oliver assured her. When they entered the book-lined, lived-in space, Oliver felt a new stab in his heart. He stopped near the door and was silent. Everything looked as if Samuel had just gotten up to get a drink or look for the mail. Annella stepped softly and slowly around the desk, let a hand trail on it‘s surface and stopped in front of the mirror and the sofa. Oliver saw her back and realized Elio stood facing his mother, his grave face reflected in the mirror. No one spoke. A shaft of sun pooled on the floor, some dust danced in the light, the smell of Samuel‘s little cigars still spoke of him. Oliver felt the loss even more vivid than before.

„You remember when he checked you out with the apricots?“, Elio‘s voice broke the silence. All three of them laughed, relieved, but soon the sombre mood of a past that would never come again embraced them.

„No one ever sits on his chair“, Annella said. „I wonder when we‘ll be ready to use this room again.“

Elio raised his shoulders with a sigh and said:

„Let‘s be thankful he was the centre of this room for so many years. The centre of our lives.“

„Of course, darling.“ Annella nodded and went over to Elio. Oliver cleared his throat and asked:

„Please tell me if it‘s too painful to talk about it, but – did he suffer?“

Elio and Annella looked at each other as if reassuring themselves the other one was fine with answering. When Elio nodded slightly, Annella began:

„Not at the end. He was so drugged he told us everything was beautiful and comfortable and that he was feeling very well.“

„Compared it to the Eleusinian Mysteries which so many before him had tried to solve. He said more than once: „And the answer is so simple!““ Elio and Annella laughed. Annella went on seriously:

„He suffered before, after the diagnosis was certain and he knew his time was limited. We all know our time is limited, of course, but it came unexpected. Samuel has always been relaxed and generous, as you know, but he developed a frantic ambition to set everything in order. I didn‘t know him like that and it was frankly quite disturbing. He spent hours in here at night and worried about too many things. Also how my and Elio‘s life might continue emotionally. I told him not to worry about me – he had given me so much happiness, such a fulfilled life at his side, I couldn‘t ask for more. I couldn‘t imagine someone new in my life and told him so. But Elio...“ Annella looked at her son. „Oh Oliver, if only he‘d known that you‘d appear again! He had wished for the two of you to meet again. Not in order to be together“, she explained quickly, „but to find some sort of closure. Mainly for our piccino here.“ Elio frowned. „Yes, honey. Samuel knew...“

Annella looked from Oliver to Elio and stopped. Oliver felt uncomfortable. Annella must have sensed something because she apologized, put her arm around Elio and said:

„Your father would be very happy today. To see you two in here again, and to see you so happy.“

Elio nodded: „I hope he looks down on us.“

„He does“, Oliver said. He came to Annella and Elio and put one arm around Elio‘s waist:

„This room is special to me, Annella. Not only for the hours I spent with Samuel here, but – it‘s the place where I saw Elio for the first time.“ Elio smiled. „It was July the eighth, did you know?“

„No, I didn‘t. That‘s soon! You have a sort of anniversary soon! We should celebrate!“

„We will“, Elio raised his eyebrows. „We‘ll celebrate, even if we spent about half of our lives apart.“

„But that‘s over now“, Oliver remarked.

„Speaking of, would you like to unpack and freshen up a bit? We prepared your old rooms, if that‘s alright? You have to share the bathroom, though.“, Annella added with a smile.

„We managed in Elio‘s funny little Paris bathroom, we‘ll manage here, won‘t we?“

„Your room“, Oliver stopped in the door and took in the view he had so long missed: the small cluttered writing desk, the two carefully made beds, standing chastely apart, the two open windows allowing fresh air and sun into the room.

„My room is now your room“, Elio smiled. He turned to Oliver who still stood as if in awe. Oliver was still silent and seemingly overcome until he whispered:

„And here, everything started.“

Elio nodded. 

„Feels like yesterday. Time is a strange thing“, Oliver mused while slowly stepping towards Elio and embracing him. Elio felt strong, warm hands roaming his back, pressing him closer. He surrendered into the hug and rested his face at Oliver‘s shoulder until they tore apart at the same time and searched for each other‘s lips. After a soft, deep kiss Oliver said:

„We are here again. And I came to make it better this time.“

Elio smiled at him wistfully, kissed him again quickly and said:

„You can start here, the bed situation is as bad as nineteen years ago. Let‘s move them.“

*

As they had spent every minute of their Paris weeks practically in bed, trying insatiably to make up for all the lost years, their ardent desire for each other‘s bodies was stilled for a bit. They spent at least their first night at the villa in loving, intimate closeness, but without going any further. They hadn‘t spoken about it, but Elio and Oliver especially needed a short rest after their interminable lovemaking. Bodily, but also emotionally. Coming back to the magical place where everything had started was for Oliver the bigger upheaval. He needed time to process the absence of Samuel and also needed to feel the house welcoming him again, whispering to him from every single one of it‘s old stones and nooks. Oliver felt the walls talk to him especially now, at night, when the world had gone quiet and mysterious. They lay naked on the bed, both windows open, and took in all the scents and sounds surrounding the villa: the soft murmur of wind in the poplars, an owl, the delicate sweet perfume of hay and ripening fruit.

„Italian nights have their very own smell, don‘t they?“, Oliver whispered and looked into Elio‘s large, dark eyes. Elio nodded:

„And their own music. Can you hear it?“

„Of course. I can hear the house also.“

„I have always liked how the wood sets and moves when temperatures change. As a child, I was scared by every crack, but now, I love it. It‘s a living thing.“

Elio had traced Oliver‘s chest with light, delicate fingers. He wandered down his belly, drew circles around his hip bone and graced one thigh before wandering up again. Oliver closed his eyes, enjoying his lover‘s gentle hands on him. Elio moved on his side, let his hand rest over Oliver‘s heart and whispered:

„Cor cordium.“

Oliver nodded and leaned in for a warm, loving kiss. Elio sighed:

„I had given up hope you‘d ever be in this room with me again.“

„I‘m here now. I won‘t go again.“

Elio sighed, turned onto his stomach and arranged his head on the pillow He looked at Oliver drowsily, blinking his eyes several times and trying to ward off sleep. Oliver turned onto his side, slid closer to Elio and let his hand wander over Elio‘s alabaster back, from his still bony, delicate shoulders, down the long valley of his spine and finally resting on the soft, tiny cheeks of his butt. He cupped one cheek – he could still easily cover it with his hand – lovingly, in a non-sexual way, buried his nose at Elio‘s shoulder and fell asleep soon after Elio.

But their nights in their former room didn‘t stay as innocent as the first one. Spending all day outside, apricating in heaven again for hours, swimming together in the refreshing small basin, enjoying the fresh, tasteful produce of the garden, sipping wine at the candle-lit table at night had awakened their senses in a new way. In Paris, they had devoured each other like starved. Greedy, fast, sometimes too fast, starting afresh even before their heartbeat had calmed down again. Forgetting to drink and to eat and staggering about dizzily in the loft. Giving in to their impatience and unexpected horniness had been the only thing they could think of.

Italy slowed down everything, not only due to the languid, moist heat. Elio, who had lived in a constant state of fear Oliver might disappear as quickly as he had turned up, relaxed and surrendered to the gentler pace the endless summer weeks offered. With his mother and Mafalda around, Elio and Oliver were considerate in their display of affection. Elio couldn‘t avoid the occasional loud smack on Oliver‘s cheek just because he was there. Finally. But all the other, small and gentle tokens of love – a kiss on Oliver‘s stomach while apricating, Oliver‘s hands in Elio‘s trunks under water while they were supposedly swimming, a stolen kiss behind a tree hanging low with delicious fruit – got a secret, clandestine quality which made them even more exciting. Partaking in the normal social hours of the villa also prevented them from making love on a whim, any minute of the day they chose, as they had done in Paris. Both felt the need and hunger build again after the first days, and even if they used the long midday siesta hours and their nights to the fullest, Oliver became restless.

„We wasted so many years already. I need you now!“, he whispered into Elio‘s curls, hugging him from behind when Elio actually had sat down to practice at the old inherited Bösendorfer. Elio shook his head without interrupting his playing, turned quickly to kiss Oliver‘s thigh and said:

„Sorry, but I have a date with Beethoven here. Later.“

Which turned Oliver on even more. Even if he had to endure Elio‘s whole practice session, the unexpected visit of an archaeologist friend of Samuel he also knew, and several delicious courses of one of Mafalda‘s elaborate meals until they could retreat safely into their room. Standing in silence, as had become their habit, listening if some of the ladies followed them with a last question, a last remark, Oliver hugged Elio from behind. Elio snuggled back into him and caressed his hands while they both looked out of the window into the clement night. The silhouettes of trees were barely visible. Some night bird left one of the branches, clumsily and loud, while a yellow moon shimmered like a dollop of honey in the sky.

„I‘ve been looking forward to make love to you in this room for so long“, Oliver mumbled. Elio squirmed under the trail of kisses Oliver brushed on his neck. Oliver slowly lifted his shirt and before pulling it over his head, kissed Elio‘s back and shoulders. Those bony shoulders that still made him helpless. Elio took his shirt off completely, turned in his arms and said:

„Sleep with me like the first time we did it. I want to have it exactly like on our first time.“

Oliver looked up from Elio‘s collarbone he had been licking, shook his head and smiled sadly:

„You can‘t step into the same river twice.“

Elio stroked his shoulders and leaned in to kiss his neck:

„But some things stay the same only by changing, someone once told me...“ He felt Oliver‘s tongue licking into his mouth while he bend him backwards.


	7. July the eighth

June passed into an even hotter July. The days were long, the evenings soft and luminous. Everyone fled the midday heat. Elio noticed with satisfaction that even Oliver had become a person for extended naps - a thing he had despised nineteen years ago.

"I was frightened I'd miss out on something", Oliver explained while playing with Elio's curls. They lay naked on their bed, the floor patterend by the play of light and shadows from the blinds.

"Chiara. In a bikini", Elio remarked.

Oliver shook his head: "You. In your trunks." He kissed Elio's cheek.

"You'd have found me here. Or in the attic. You knew that."

"I know. But - you know, I wasn't ready..."

"So glad you're ready now!", Elio cried and rolled onto Oliver. "So, my love. My heart. Tomorrow is the big day. What do you want to do?"

Oliver offered his lips for a kiss before speaking:

"Nothing spectacular. I'm just glad we're here again. Together. Just - celebrate that I found you."

"Creepy stalker", Elio murmured while caressing his lips with his tongue. He arranged himself more comfortably on Oliver and continued:

"Let's just have a day like nineteen years ago, shall we? I could ask Mafalda for the chocolate - raspberry cake. But otherwise - biking, apricating, getting a gelato at the piazza?"

"Will you play something for me?"

"Of course. As I said, everything like back then. I still need to realize I have you back. Let's plan something grand for next year, all right?"

"A real honeymoon?"

„A real honeymoon“, Elio confirmed. He felt Oliver‘s hands gently stroke his back and closed his eyes indulgently. When Oliver‘s fingers traced the swell of his butt, he sighed: „Don‘t stop what you‘re doing. But tell me about your dream vacation.“

Oliver stroked the small of his back, returned slowly and let the tips of his fingers dance on Elio's spine:

"Apart from this one, you mean? I always wanted to see the Mediterranean from the water. You know, in a Homeric way. By ship."

„Sounds lovely“, Elio stated. „I always wanted to go to Alexandria. You know, my father‘s family originally came from there, some generations back. Did he ever tell you?“ Oliver shook his head. „I‘ve never been there. But papá kept talking about the blue, endless sea. The piers where everyone would take a stroll at night. The air...“

Oliver stopped his hands on Elio's bum and demanded:

„Give me that book. The – forth from the top?“ He gestured to the small stack of books on the night stand. Elio tried to stretch his arms, almost rolled off Oliver and slid sideways while deliberately brushing Oliver‘s sensitive parts. Oliver mock - slapped his butt while he waited for Elio to grapple the book without messing everything else up. Elio finally got hold of a slim, worn-looking volume. He slid down, arranged himself on his back next to Oliver and opened the book:

"Cavafy?", he asked.

"Yes", Oliver nodded. "My constant companion."

"Always thought him a bit - purple?", Elio asked.

"Well, it's not your Celan, but..." Elio had punched him lightly on the chest. Oliver took the book, searched for a certain page and gave it to Elio:

"Here, that's you."

Elio realized the pages were soft and often-turned. A well used, loved copy it was. He read silently - „Red lips. Limbs made for pleasure. Hair like something taken from Greek statues: always lovely, even when it‘s uncombed, and falls, a bit, upon the gleaming brow.“ - smiled at Oliver and kissed him softly:

"That's me?"

"Yes. And look here. That's us. As we are now. Naked, in the afternoon, happy and spent..." Oliver searched for another poem. He held the book to Elio who asked:

"Read it to me. Please. But - softly."

Elio lay on his side and watched his beautiful lover read the few lines he had read so often in his parallel life. Back then, he'd despaired he'd never reach this state with his one and true love. Now, he was here. With him. Doing the same things as the lovers in Cavafy's poem.

"It's beautiful. Purple, but beautiful", Elio said when he had finished. "So, Cavafy lived in Alexandria?"

Oliver nodded: "Maybe we can see his place. I'd love to be there with you."

"We'll do that. Next year."

Their special day found the lovers sleeping in far longer than they ever had. Clear, golden morning light pooled in the room at an unfamiliar angle. The noise from outside was also different than at their usual get-up time. Especially Oliver never was a late riser and blinked more than twice when he looked at his watch. He groaned and hid his face back in the sheets, searching for Elio‘s warm shoulder and nuzzling it. He embraced him from behind again. Loose, overheated limbs, still heavy and slow with dreams. Elio snuggled back into him with a sigh but didn‘t talk yet. Oliver kissed the delicate upper knobs of his spine, some freckles on the shoulder he loved especially, and whispered:

"It's a quarter to ten. Your mother will think we startedthe day with a private celebration."

"She won't mind. We won't tell her we celebrated already at midnight."

Oliver moaned.he felt a wavemof heat - exciting, delicious pain and forbidden pleasure - surge in his stomach. He groaned some more and pressed Elio closer to him. Elio grasped for his fingers, turned his head for a kiss and asked sleepily:

"You okay?"

Oliver nodded: "Me okay. Though you nearly killed me last night."

"Come on. You can take it." Elio's lips curled when he glanced at his lover over his shoulder.

"I don't mean - that. I mean - being here with you, finally, making love to you at moonlight, finally getting all I ever dreamed of. Just being able to hold you in my arms again."

„You goose“, Elio mumbled while turning and crawling sleepily into Oliver‘s arms. Oliver knew his lover could easily fall asleep again and worried for a moment about Mafalda and Annella. But when he felt Elio‘s cheek pressing softly into his chest, his arm resting on Oliver‘s stomach, he cradled his bird-like shoulders out of reflex and decided to protect him from every intrusion. Elio needed his sleep.

When they came down much later, Mafalda didn‘t scold them openly – she had gotten softer with the years – but couldn‘t avoid some remarks about the kitchen being too small to prepare breakfast, lunch and a chocolate cake at once. Elio placated her with a tender hug, kissed her cheek and soothed her: „Faccio io, Mafalda, faccio io...“

While Elio watched the boiling eggs, Mafalda put a pot of coffee on the stove, her only concession to spoil the late risers. Elio kissed her again when everything was ready and carried the tray outside to Oliver. They had waved earlier to his mother who was busy in the garden. Elio put an egg in front of Oliver, kissed his cheek softly and warmly and carefully cut the top of the egg. Oliver cradled his delicate fingers, kissed them and said:

"I love it when you do that for me."

Elio raised an eyebrow, sat down on the chair next to Oliver and said softly:

„Whenever we do what we did last night“ - Oliver looked alarmed in direction of the kitchen, but Mafalda had turned up the radio and banged ostentatiously with pots and pans to prove her business - „I feel such a wave of tenderness towards you. Such – I cannot explain it. Gentleness, a need to protect you, an urge to hold you and keep you safe… You know what I mean?“

Oliver nodded: "I feel the same."

"Really? Every time?"

"Of course. Sometimes, I don't know how to thank you. For opening your body up for me like that."

Elio looked at him thoughtfully:

"But my feelings are so strong and overwhelming. It almost hurts to see you surrender like that. To give yourself up in my arms. To trust me completely. I want to do so much more for you than just opening your eggs, you know." He caressed Oliver's arm. Oliver smiled:

"Same here. Every time."

Elio swallowed: "Se l'amore?"

"Se l'amore", Oliver confirmed and leaned in to kiss Elio's raspberry lips. He tasted of coffee and apricot juice.

Annella joined them presently and placed a tiny basket of late strawberries on the table.

"Help yourself. They're delicious."

Annella snacked on some strawberries and had a third cup of coffee before retreating to her paper. When Elio and Oliver had finished breakfast and started to carry the dishes inside to a softly grumbling Mafalda, Annella stopped Oliver:

"Can I have a word with you? In Samuel's study?"

Oliver nodded and realized a quick, conspirational glance between Elio and his mother. Elio took Oliver's dishes and told him to go ahead, he'd clear the table and practice some. They kissed quickly but softly before Annella lead the way inside the house.

The study shimmered quietly in the soft, golden mid-morning light. Samuel‘s presence was tangible, especially when equally soft and golden notes from the old piano started to float through the ground floor. Elio started a delicate, hauntingly beautiful piece by Liszt he‘d been tackling recently, „Bénédiction de dieu dans la solitude“. The familiar melody had accompanied them over the last days and Annella sighed happily:

„Ah. I love this melody. It seems endless.“ Oliver nodded. „It‘s here, in this room, that you saw Samuel for the first time, nineteen years ago. Not only Elio, but – Samuel also.“ Oliver looked at her expectantly. The whole setting - just Annella and him, after having gotten an invitation to join her - had an unfamiliar official touch. Annella stood next to Samuel‘s empty chair, stroked it‘s arm rest and said:

"I should sit here now, as I'm going to speak for Samuel as well, but I just can't. Let's imagine he's still here. But you can have a seat, Oliver."

Oliver sat down in the large antique chair next to the fireplace. His curiosity grew. Annella smiled at him, stroked the chair once more and began:

"Elio knows what I'm going to talk about. He didn't want to be present as he didn't want to influence your decision. And I'll tell you before I start - you don't have to answer right now. Take your time to consider my - our offer."

Oliver joked: "Are you going to propose matrimony to me?"

Annella smiled but shook her head:

„Sorry to sound cryptic. Here‘s the thing: as you know, Samuel couldn‘t finish his last book. Leaving it like that was one of the great sorrows of his last days. He told me more than once to find someone to finish the job. But it‘s no easy task. It‘s quite comprehensive. You know Samuel… And this is speaking only of the text. The photos are a chapter of their own. Samuel was adamant about finding someone to steward his legacy. It‘s not just the one book we‘re talking about, there‘s much more: essays, lectures, introductions he wrote. All this might be turned into another volume. He mentioned you, more than once. I understand you were in conversation about his projects all the time?“

Oliver nodded: "We were. It was a great privilege to follow his kind on his extraordinary journeys."

„He always said you were the extraordinary mind“, Annella smiled sadly. „If you only had had more time together...“ She sighed, turned and sat down on the pink sofa. „We talked about this at length, Samuel and I. Of all our summer guests, you are the one he‘d preferred to complete his work. We just didn‘t know about the logistics. I hadn‘t expected the recent developments in your personal life. Also that you‘d be on leave from your university for a year. This final decision is my own one, but I‘m sure Samuel would approve: could you imagine living here for a year and finishing Samuel‘s book?“

Elio had arrived at an emotional, exuberant outburst in his piece. Oliver felt the same strong feelings washing over him. He stared at Annella blankly without saying a word.

"I realize it might be too - difficult for you to entangle your private and professional life like that. None of us knows if you came to..."

Oliver got up: "Annella, this is for real. I came to stay this time." The sunlight played with Annella's calm eyes. "I could never leave Elio again."

Brillant cascades of shimmering Liszt flooded the hallway.

„How could I live without all this noise?“, he asked. Annella smiled. „No, seriously. I want to be with Elio. We haven‘t figured it out yet, but we are decided on living together. Somehow. Or not that far apart as before. Elio wants to keep his job in Paris and I encouraged him to do so. But Paris is not so far from here...“ Annella nodded. „So… I‘d feel beyond honoured to accept your offer. I‘d love to immerse myself into Samuel‘s thinking and try to bring it to the best possible end.“

Annella hugged him tenderly. Oliver touched her delicate small body cautiously and drew her close.

When Oliver leaned in the doorframe to the living room seconds later, Elio still continued soft arpeggios up and down the piano, marking the calm end of Liszt‘s outrageous piece. Oliver knew from previous practice sessions that his long fingers moved almost exclusively on black keys now, relaxed and gentle. The music had gotten quite soft, and when Elio raised his head and looked askingly at Oliver, Oliver said into the calming sounds:

"You'll have to put up with me for some more time, I'm afraid."

Elio's mouth twitched, but he played on unmovedly and replied:

"We managed back then. We'll manage now. Come here."

*The end*


End file.
